Sleep
by Lovingly Insane
Summary: Gregory and Christophe seem like the most unlikely yet perfect couple. What will happen when all that is ruined by a simple shot?
1. Chapter 1

Gregory's eyes were glazed over as he stared out the window. He was bored. Tired. Waiting. Worried. Christophe had yet to come home, and it was an hour past his usual time. Gregory tapped his foot and bit his lip, looking around uncomfortably. Where was the Mole?

Suddenly, a tiny snick interrupted his thoughts. His head whipped toward the door. Immediately his body got ready for action. He whipped his pistol out of his belt, flipped himself over the couch, and watched the door, picked lock and all, slowly open. He caressed the weapon with gloved hands and watched as large black boots crept silently on the hardwood floor. The dusty, muddy brown pants that were loosely tucked into them were familiar. Mud. It must be the Mole. Gregory crawled out from behind the couch and sat silently on the arm, his legs crossed, and stared at the other man. It was the Mole indeed. He shook out his damp, dark hair and hung his shovel on a metal hook jabbing out of the wall. As he took a long drag of his cigarette, he noticed Gregory.

"Bonjour, mon amour," he said with a smirk.

Gregory stood, walking with the grace and intimidation of a panther to him. "You're late."

"Oui, oui, I know, Gregory. I apologize. I vas busy."

Gregory narrowed his eyes and 'hmph'ed. "I was-" he stopped, knowing how petty he would sound, and pursed his lips.

Christophe took a step closer, and another, and another, until they were less than an inch apart. "You vere vhat?" Gregory made a frustrated sound in response. "Gregory...mon cher..."

"I was worried!" Gregory sneered. "I was worried you'd gotten hurt again, or you were killed, or something bad had..." His normally bold voice trailed off slightly at the end. He blushed, more angry and embarressed than swooning, and looked away.

"Gregory..." the Mole purred, nuzzling the smaller boy's cheek with the tip of his pale nose, "I'm sorry."

The small boy stiffened, not used to hearing these words come out of his love's mouth. "What?"

"Sheet," the gruff voice answered, his accent breathtakingly thick, "I said I vas sorry."

Gregory smiled, his ice blue eyes lighting up. "It's quite alright," he murmured, kissing him on the lips. "Just don't worry me again." He twisted around, punched him in the gut and sauntered into the kitchen. Gregory filled a cup with water and took a sip, grinning. Suddenly, he was slammed against the counter. The Mole flipped him around so their chests were touching.

"Don't heet me, beetch," growled the brunette, "I'll heet you back."

Gregory smirked. "Would you really," he inched closer, "hit," a bit more, "me?" He kissed the Frenchman on the lips and grinned. Christophe's eyes grew darker as a dash of danger filled them. He grabbed the back of the shorter man's knees in one large palm, caught his blonde head in the other, and tossed him onto the floor. He launched a kick to the other's ribs, his expression staying flat. Gregory groaned.

"'Tophe," he moaned, "that hurt."

"'ou dared me," the Mole simply stated, shrugging.

"I did not!"

"Oh, don't be a pussy, mon chéri. I didn't kick 'ou that hard."

"I am not being a pussy! You did too."

Christophe simply lit another cigarette and blew a smoke ring in his lover's face. Gregory closed his eyes as the Mole lifted him into his arms and carried him to the couch. They sat for only a moment before Gregory was cuddled into Christophe's side. Christophe let out a gruff, satisfied laugh.

"What?" Gregory wondered aloud, his voice faint.

"It is...easy, 'ou see, to get 'ou to forgive me."

"Easy?"

"It took but a minute to get 'ou to lay with me, mon cher."

Gregory sighed. "That's because I love you."

"I know, cher." He kissed the blonde hair that sat atop the pale head. "Je t'aime aussi."

Gregory smiled. "Goodnight, Mole."

"Bonne nuit, Gregory."

Gregory fell into a fitful sleep in his lover's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

It was six A.M. that day, when the sun rose. Christophe was wide awake, finishing off yet another cigarette and staring at the morning sun. He watched as the beams caressed Gregory's delicate features; his soft, pallid skin, curly blonde locks, and full shell lips. He was beautiful. He was the angel to Christophe's demon; the sun to his moon. They were opposites in every physical way, yet, so alike mentally. So demonic.

Christophe kissed Gregory's temple and slid out from underneath him. He snickered as the boy cuddled up against a pillow, as if it were him.

Gregory's eyes slowly opened and he heard the grumble of the coffee maker in the kitchen. He sleepily got up, stumbling into a wall or two on him way. Christophe turned and grinned at the drowsy kid, handing him a cup of chamomile tea.

"Vhy don't 'ou drink coffee?" Christophe murmured, sipping the deep brown substance from his own mug.

"Coffee?" Gregory replied, leaning against the counter and rubbing his eyes. "Oh. I don't like it. It's bitter."

"'ave you-"

"Yes, Mole, I've had your coffee. I've had every god damn type of coffee. We've been over this before. Trust me."

Christophe wrapped his arms around Gregory's waist. "But, mon cher," he purred, "I don't think 'ou have. Anyvon who 'as 'ad my coffee vould 'ave liked eet."

"Weirdo," giggled Gregory. "Wait, no, scratch that. Horny weirdo." He kissed the other's cheek and twisted out of his arms, sauntering over to the toaster. "Would you like some tofu-vegetable toast?"

"Euh," groaned Christophe, "I don't vant your pussy vegetarian food."

"It's good for you."

"Eet tastes like sheet."

"It's healthy!"

"Eet'll keel me. Very healthy."

"Shut up, mole."

"Oh, 'ou beetch. Make me some god damn toast."

"Hah!" Gregory started the toast and began preparing the vegetables and tofu. Christophe took a long drag of his cigarette and hopped up on the counter next to him. He played with the blonde's hair and murmured a poem under his breath before looking at Gregory and snickering.

"'Ou are cute as eh 'ousewife." Gregory whacked his arm playfully, scowling. "Eet es a good zing, Gregory."

"Sure."

"Eet es." He lifted the boy's chin slowly, kissing him. Gregory frowned, pulling away.

"You're very lovey today."

"Vat?"

"You've very lovey-dovey today," Gregory said, staring at him. "It's strange."

Christophe smiled sadly and murmured, "'Ou noticed."

"I did. I know you better than anyone, Mole. What's going on?"

"I..." Christophe sighed, squeezing his lover's hand. "Gregory...mon cher, I was poisoned yesterday."

"What?!"

"Zey got me yesterday. I vas...euh...held prisoner. Zey tied me down and everyt'ing. Gave me a shot."

"No..."

"Twenty-four hours. Eet es fatal."

'No...!"

"Eet will kick in very soon, ze pain. Four hours, maybe."

"Mole...we have to-" Gregory shook him by the shoulders, tears streaming down his cheeks. "We have to get you to the doctor, the hospital...they can help you..."

"No, cher. Eet es fatal, I told 'ou-"

"NO!" he screeched, sobbing. "No. I will not let you die, 'Tophe. I will not...let..." He collapsed into his lover's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. The Mole comforted him, stroking his hair and hugging him close. He closed his eyes; how could he leave the only person he had ever loved?


End file.
